Got it. Gonna enjoy my pride of lions before things explode that year.
The Grand Duchy of the West - A Valois-Burgundian TL
- Thread starter BlueFlowwer
- Start date
England is pretty stable. No Perkins running around the place. And Richard and Beatrice's daughter (his third, her first) are betrothed to little Philippe.
that is quite good indeed for both England and Brabant, especially if everyone survives long term.
I have no plans to be mean to Beatrice or Beatrice jr as I was with Mary of York.
she's just going to get a husband that's going to cheat. A lot. Which is better than dying I guess.
Well, yes. Philippe isn't gonna be the most faithful of husbands, but they are gonna get along rather well otherwise.
Well yeah, especially if Philippe starts funding expeditions while Charles fucks with France I see Brabant being very wealthy especially when France is distracted during the early stages.
Brabant is gonna be wealthy, yes. And I hope that you like what I have planned with Charles of Lorraine.
I'm defo interested in what'll happen with Charles of Lorraine.
PS what'll happen with Brittany ittl?
I think you will enjoy his big moment very much.
Well Jean VI of Brittany (male Anne of Brittany) is ruling and he's married to Eleanor of Gloucester and their son, Richard, Count of Montford are bethroted to Katherine of Brabant, Philip's second daughter.
You're defo getting me very hyped for Charles of Lorraine! Now if we only have something
Nice, I defo hope Britanny survives to the modern day, considering their fate in otl. Considering Anne of Brittany otl I defo see the duchy surviving for a bit, and I can see them ally with the Brabants against French aggression.
Also Brittany colonies?
You don't think I have given you anything so far?All of my chapters and this is what you say 😭😭 how dare. Now I shan't give you naught but snakes in your socks and cactuses in your couch.
Brittany is gonna live for a while longer. Unfortunately I think they are living on borrowed time. But Jean is gonna be remembered as a very good Duke and they are allied with both Brabant and England at the moment.
There will be some colonies coming up after 1520.
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Chapter 21 - France in 1500
Chapter 21 – France in 1500
Charles is not sure what to make of his bride. The new dauphine of France is a young woman, with a rich dowry and impeccable linage. Infanta Isabella of Portugal is tall, fair, and dark haired with dark grey eyes. She’s lovely enough to break any young man’s heart. Nothing in her behaviour is unseemly, as she carries herself with poise and dignity. She greets everyone in court with politeness and listens to small talk with an attentive ear. She dances gracefully with all who ask her during feastings and dines with moderation at the high table. His mother is pleased with her, and his father enjoys the dowry that came with her. His four-year-old sister Marie adores her. So does the commoners, who cheered on her when she entered Paris and later after coming out on the steps of Notre-Dame cathedral. Isabella, or Isabelle as she now goes by, is flawless as far as everyone is concerned in the kingdom.
Charles finds her cold. Isabelle is as lovely as the night stars, but to him she’s just as remote. She smiles at him at times, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She talks to him at times, but there is no warmth in her voice. She accepts his small gifts and company, but he feels like he barely knows her. Their marriage had been consummated properly, but it had felt less like passionate experience, more clinical. Not like the stories he had read about during childhood. Sure, he boasts to his friends about “burying himself in the warm acres of Portugal” after his wedding night, but it’s a lie in a way. The virgin blood on the wedding sheets is the most he has gotten from his wife so far. Charles knows his first duty to Isabelle is to seed her womb with a prince and he hopes his wife conceives quickly. Perhaps a baby would melt the ice. At the least she can go to Chateau in Blois while the baby grows inside her.
Isabelle of Portugal, Dauphine of France
His mother counsels him to be kind to Isabelle, saying that a new land can take a long while to adjust to. To give her space and let things take their time. His father counsels him to be courteous and to visit her bed often. If he wants to indulge himself in passion, a mistress can be found in private. If he fathers a royal grandchild.
Charles sees the first glimmer of something other than glassy dignity five months after the marriage. An elaborate mass in the cathedral in Reims in early December seemed to move Isabelle in ways few things does. The music is beautiful, filling the whole cathedral with sounds. Charles watches her face light up when the winter sunlight filters through the multi-coloured rose window. For a moment there is a tear running down her pale cheek and Isabelle seems to exhale deeply, like letting something go from her chest. His gaze is transfixed upon her, so when her slim fingers drop to caress her lower stomach in a moment of unguarded relief, his whole world tilts completely of axis in a matter of seconds.
Suddenly Isabelle’s eyes find his own and for the first time his wife’s gaze is filled with something other then distance. It’s not warm exactly, but it something more than just coolness right now.
Author's Note: A rather short chapter here, but I neglected France in this tl since 1480. Ah, the complexities of a arranged marriages and two people who don't really know how to communicate with each others.
Charles is not sure what to make of his bride. The new dauphine of France is a young woman, with a rich dowry and impeccable linage. Infanta Isabella of Portugal is tall, fair, and dark haired with dark grey eyes. She’s lovely enough to break any young man’s heart. Nothing in her behaviour is unseemly, as she carries herself with poise and dignity. She greets everyone in court with politeness and listens to small talk with an attentive ear. She dances gracefully with all who ask her during feastings and dines with moderation at the high table. His mother is pleased with her, and his father enjoys the dowry that came with her. His four-year-old sister Marie adores her. So does the commoners, who cheered on her when she entered Paris and later after coming out on the steps of Notre-Dame cathedral. Isabella, or Isabelle as she now goes by, is flawless as far as everyone is concerned in the kingdom.
Charles finds her cold. Isabelle is as lovely as the night stars, but to him she’s just as remote. She smiles at him at times, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She talks to him at times, but there is no warmth in her voice. She accepts his small gifts and company, but he feels like he barely knows her. Their marriage had been consummated properly, but it had felt less like passionate experience, more clinical. Not like the stories he had read about during childhood. Sure, he boasts to his friends about “burying himself in the warm acres of Portugal” after his wedding night, but it’s a lie in a way. The virgin blood on the wedding sheets is the most he has gotten from his wife so far. Charles knows his first duty to Isabelle is to seed her womb with a prince and he hopes his wife conceives quickly. Perhaps a baby would melt the ice. At the least she can go to Chateau in Blois while the baby grows inside her.
Isabelle of Portugal, Dauphine of France
His mother counsels him to be kind to Isabelle, saying that a new land can take a long while to adjust to. To give her space and let things take their time. His father counsels him to be courteous and to visit her bed often. If he wants to indulge himself in passion, a mistress can be found in private. If he fathers a royal grandchild.
Charles sees the first glimmer of something other than glassy dignity five months after the marriage. An elaborate mass in the cathedral in Reims in early December seemed to move Isabelle in ways few things does. The music is beautiful, filling the whole cathedral with sounds. Charles watches her face light up when the winter sunlight filters through the multi-coloured rose window. For a moment there is a tear running down her pale cheek and Isabelle seems to exhale deeply, like letting something go from her chest. His gaze is transfixed upon her, so when her slim fingers drop to caress her lower stomach in a moment of unguarded relief, his whole world tilts completely of axis in a matter of seconds.
Suddenly Isabelle’s eyes find his own and for the first time his wife’s gaze is filled with something other then distance. It’s not warm exactly, but it something more than just coolness right now.
Author's Note: A rather short chapter here, but I neglected France in this tl since 1480. Ah, the complexities of a arranged marriages and two people who don't really know how to communicate with each others.
There are happy couples in this TL, like Philip and Philippa, Richard and Beatriz, Nicholas and Mary, Charles VIII and Isabelle of Burgundy, Anne of Brabant and Archduke Frederick etc so I decided to make a few that aren't as happy.
Not compared to Philip and Juana as otl. I haven't decided on making a truly awful one yet.
It be like that sometimes. And Isabella isn't a very emotional person either.